Music Shall Surround You
by HC0
Summary: One of Erik's first encounters with music.


**Disclaimer: Erik is only mine in my fantasies. He and the rest of his fandom are the creation and property of Gaston Leroux/Andrew Lloyd Webber/Susan Kay/And Many Others.

* * *

**

Erik's earliest memory was of the music. First there had been the bells strung across his cradle. Later, his mother had sung, occasionally accompanying herself on piano or violin.

They had made beautiful sounds, the instruments, beautiful tunes. Erik knew of more tunes; he wasn't sure how he knew them, but they were there in his head.

The violin was kept on a high shelf; too high. But the piano was in the parlor, easily accessible…

So one night, when his mother was sleeping too soundly to hear him, Erik crept down from the attic, into the parlor where stood the piano. He climbed onto the polished stool and studied the uncovered keys.

They all made different sounds, that much he knew. He pressed a key, experimentally. Quietly, he went up and down the entire keyboard, memorizing each note.

How would those two sound together, he wondered…he tried pressing them, and shook his head to clear the sound away. Terrible!

But maybe…_that _one and _that _and _that…_Erik played the notes, all at once. Much better.

Now, one by one…and he started at the sound. He knew that tune! And then he realized—he didn't know exactly what he realized, or how, but he knew it was big. He understood, now, and it was like a whole new world was born—a world of music.

Erik tried more keys together, at different speeds, and a smile began to spread beneath the mask. He was making music!

Tentatively, he tried to play one of the tunes from his head. He hit a sour note and frowned. Then he figured out the right one, and before long Erik had the song figured out.

He began to hum with it, and that was the sound that brought Madeleine out of her sleep.

She recognized the voice of that monster they called her son, and she wouldn't have it. She stormed into the parlor, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and preparing to yell at him. But then she stopped—she heard the piano.

This wasn't a child's random keyboard smashing, this was playing. "What is that, Erik?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice; he had been too absorbed in his playing to notice her entrance. "I'm playing the piano," he explained.

"I can see that much; you should be grateful I'm not whipping you. It's far too late, and that piano is expensive; you could break it! Maybe I should whip you."

Erik cowered, but didn't run. "I made up a tune, Mother." Yes! He had made it up! Why hadn't he known that? "I made up a tune," he repeated. "Listen."

Erik played it again, small three-year-old fingers struggling on the massive keyboard, and Madeleine listened.

"You made that up?" she asked in disbelief when he'd finished. No, he couldn't have! Much too young.

Erik nodded. "It's for you, Mother," he said, suddenly inspired. "I made this up for you."

He started to play it again, but Madeleine slapped his hand away. "Don't lie to me, Erik. You can't compose music; you've never even learned to play."

"Is that what it's called?" he asked. "Composing?" The skeletal little hands reached for the piano, and she pulled them away again.

"I said do not lie! Now get off that piano bench and go to your bed!"

Erik slumped, recognizing a lost battle.

As Madeleine watched him go, she felt, inexplicably, a tiny spark of pity. "Erik!" she called.

He turned warily.

"Erik…if you really want to play the piano, I'll teach you."

"Really?"

"But you have to promise not to lie, and to behave, and not to tell anybody. Do you understand?"

Erik nodded emphatically. Then suddenly, he rushed over and hugged her. "Thank you!"

Madeleine felt a rush of revulsion and pulled away. "Erik!" she scolded. "I told you, go to bed!"

He obeyed. Sasha was sleeping on the floor next to his little cot.

"Sasha!" the boy whispered to the dog. "I'm going to learn music!"

The cocker spaniel shook her head sleepily.

Erik rested against her, to excited to sleep. The music—_his_ music— surrounded him like a group of friends—one of many things he'd always longed for.

"Sasha!" he whispered again. "I think the music loves me."

THE END


End file.
